


There Was Only One Bed

by LilRadRidingHood



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Chorus (Red vs. Blue), Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Season/Series 11, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26433736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilRadRidingHood/pseuds/LilRadRidingHood
Summary: Simmons refuses to make another bed for Grif, but he also refuses to let Grif sleep on the floor. Bed sharing ensues.
Relationships: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons
Comments: 28
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

“Okay, what the fuck are you doing?”

Grif opens his eyes and squints at the tall, irritated man standing over him. “Uh… trying to sleep?”

“On the _floor_?”

It’s their first night sharing a room on Chorus, and while Simmons has already made a bed out of leaves and other materials he gathered around the crash site, Grif clearly hasn’t been as productive. And unlike Simmons, his lack of a bed doesn’t seem to bother him at all.

Instead, he simply shrugs. “Why not?”

“B-Because! It’s unsanitary! We don’t know anything about the wildlife on this planet! What if there are diseased bugs on the ground? Or snakes!”

“As long as there aren’t bats, I’ll take my chances.” The orange-clad soldier closes his eyes, but Simmons won’t relent.

“Grif, I’m serious! Just make your own bed. It’s not even that hard.”

“Then why don’t you make one for me?”

The cyborg throws his hands up in frustration. “Because that’s not my responsibility!”

“Oh yeah? It’s not your responsibility to yell at me for sleeping on the floor either, but here we are!”

“You can’t just expect me to sleep peacefully in my own bed while you’re on the floor exposing yourself to potential pathogens!”

“Well, too bad! Because I’m not making a bed, and you’re not making me a bed, so I guess I’m sleeping on the fucking floor!”

“Oh just share with me then!”

The suggestion brings an abrupt halt to their argument. Grif’s eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline, and slowly, Simmons’ hard glare softens as he realizes what he just said. Grif is the first one to speak again.

“Did you just… invite me into bed with you?”

“I-” Heat rises to the cyborg’s cheeks, visibly tinting his pale skin. “L-Logically speaking, with our current resources, it _is_ the best way to maximize comfort with minimal effort.”

“Yeah, sure. You gonna buy me dinner too?”

“You know what? Forget it.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” Slowly, Grif gets up, and after a moment’s hesitation, he plops onto the bed, looking down at it thoughtfully. “You know, this isn’t too bad.”

The sliver of praise is enough to lift Simmons’ spirits. “Really?”

“As a matter of fact…” Grif yawns, stretching his limbs across the makeshift mattress. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

He closes his eyes, and Simmons just stares, dumbfounded, until he regains enough of his senses to make failed attempts at pushing his heavy teammate aside. 

“ _Grif_ ,” he whines mid-shove, “move over!”

But his orange friend refuses to budge. “Just lay down next to me,” he drawls. “There should be enough space there for your scrawny ass.”

“It’s _lie_ , you dumbass. And that’s not the point! You can’t just sprawl across the center of the bed! When you’re sharing, you have to pick a side!”

“Yeah? Well I don’t follow that rule. Because _I_ am a total maverick.”

The cyborg stops pushing and huffs. “You know, I really hate you sometimes.” 

Without another word, he crawls into bed and curls up next to Grif, his back pressed against his stubborn teammate’s arm. After a moment of silence, Grif glances at him through half-lidded eyes and sighs.

“All right, fine,” he says. The bed shifts as he moves away. “Happy now?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, I am.” With a satisfied smile, Simmons unfurls himself and turns toward his friend—only for his face to fall when he’s met with the back of Grif’s head, and the newly increased space between them. 

But this is what he wanted, isn’t it?

This is the distance they’re used to. This is what feels natural—whether they’re standing on the roof of their base or lying in the same bed. Yet, as Simmons lies there facing the giant hole in the ceiling, he can’t help but feel like there’s something missing.

“Hey,” he says. “You ever wonder why we’re here?”

He wonders how Grif will answer this time. If he’ll start asking existential questions or if he’ll tell Simmons to shut up so he can sleep. Or, Simmons thinks as the silence stretches between them, maybe he’s already asleep. Because _of course_ Grif would already be asleep.

But just as Simmons closes his eyes, he finally hears a quiet response. 

“It’s one of life’s great mysteries, isn’t it?” Grif lifts his head to look over his shoulder, and his mouth curves into a weary smile. “Good night, Simmons.”

The cyborg smiles back in contentment. “Good night.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons wakes up from a bad dream, and his new roommate is there to comfort him.

"Simmons," Sarge yells from the other side of the base. "Hurry up and bring that lazy ass over here!"

"Just a minute!" the cyborg calls back. He leans closer to his roommate—and now bedmate—to whisper harshly. "Grif, come on! You're making me look bad in front of Sarge!"

"It's your fault for making it so easy," Grif drawls.

Simmons frowns, dropping the whisper. "Have you been awake this whole time?"

"Mm… maybe."

"You're unbelievable."

But Simmons doesn't give up. He keeps tugging on Grif's arm until at last, his lazy teammate gets out of bed.

Only for Simmons to have to do it all again the next morning. And the next. And the next.

"That's it!" the maroon soldier shouts one day. "I don't understand how you can have so much trouble getting up in the morning. By my calculations, you should be getting more than enough sleep each night!"

"Maybe you did your math wrong," Grif retorts.

"Oh, please. I don't need _you_ of all people questioning my math." But just in case, he mentally double-checks anyway. Given the time they usually go to bed, and the time they get up, they always have nine to ten hours of rest for the night—a pretty generous amount for a grown adult. "Seriously, Grif, are you… are you okay?"

The sprawled out Red quirks an eyebrow. "What?"

Simmons hesitates. He wonders if showing concern would be too much—too sentimental to suit the gruff nature of his team.

In the end, he shakes his head and lets it go.

"Nevermind," he says. "Just… get the fuck up, okay?"

He walks away before Grif can respond.

— 

The rest of Simmons' day is no better.

It's not enough that he has to deal with Grif using his toothbrush, or thinking the sink is _just where dishes go_. No, on top of that, he has to deal with a superior who shuts down his plan to _finally_ fix the fucking comm tower so they can leave this godforsaken place.

And this time, sleep offers no escape either.

Simmons wakes in the middle of the night with the fading memories of a nightmare, of which only the most painful pieces remain. As he sits in the darkness, he remembers dreaming of home, of a father who demanded everything and was satisfied by nothing—the man who pounded into his soul an inescapable need to please other people. The man Simmons still wants to please more than anyone, even now.

The more he thinks about it, the harder it is to keep from crying. And as the tears start to flow, something moves beside him. "Simmons?"

"Grif!" the cyborg squeals. "I thought you were asleep!"

"Like I'd fall asleep that fast."

"It's been hours!"

"So?"

Baffled, Simmons stares at him for another moment before deciding this conversation isn't worth it. Not now. He simply turns his head away and sniffs.

And that's enough to give it away.

Grif sits up, leaning forward to get a glimpse of Simmons' face. "Hey, man, are you crying?"

Simmons freezes in the middle of lifting his arm toward his eyes. "...No."

"Bullshit." The orange soldier crawls over to sit across from his fellow Red. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's stupid."

"Try me."

Slowly, Simmons lifts his head to meet Grif's eyes. "It's just… I'm _tired_. Tired of trying so hard to please everyone and never feeling appreciated for it! I mean, I think it's pretty fucking obvious how much I want Sarge's approval. But how does he respond? By dismissing my ideas and building a stupid robot instead. And you-" He stops himself, biting his lip.

Fortunately, Grif doesn't seem to notice. "Look. You know how Sarge is. He just wants to overcomplicate things because he's a senile old man with nothing better to do. It's not because he doesn't respect you. Hell, I think he might even respect _me_ to some degree."

"He does. I _know_ he does. But sometimes- sometimes it's not enough, okay? Sometimes I wanna hear it."

Grif stares for another moment before letting out a long sigh. "Okay." Then, without warning, he leans forward and wraps his thick arms around his maroon friend. "I love you," he says, and Simmons' breath hitches. "I love you, and don't you forget it."

They stay like that for a while, long after Simmons hugs Grif back. And it's warm and tranquil and better than anything Simmons has ever felt before. It's there in that peaceful feeling, with his head resting on Grif's shoulder, that the exhausted cyborg finally drifts off to sleep.

— 

Simmons' eyes open with the new day, just as the sun rises in the sky.

With the cozy heat enveloping his body, he doesn't bother to question what's so different this morning. Not until his eye catches on the brown hand resting near his chest, and the leg draped over his hip.

But before he can freak out and ruin the moment, he looks back to see Grif's sleeping face, mere inches away, looking so peaceful that it's enough to calm Simmons down instantly.

Enough to remember exactly what happened last night—and the things Grif said.

 _I love you, and don't you forget it_.

Perhaps if it were later in the morning, with Simmons' mind fully awake, he'd overanalayze the words for all their possible meanings. For now, though, he can't help feeling a bit… _lazy_.

So the cyborg snuggles in closer to Grif, and cherishing the love and warmth of his best friend, he has no trouble falling back asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I love you" can mean a lot of things. Simmons is all too aware of that fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyooo I'm back with a different username so it finally matches my tumblr.  
> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy : )

Simmons shoots up from bed after waking up to the sound of Sarge's loud drilling from outside.

"Wha-" Grif looks around in confusion, stopping when his eyes focus on Simmons. "Oh. Right."

Suddenly, memories of the previous night flood Simmons' mind. He remembers the nightmare, and how he spilled his heart out, and three specific words Grif said in response.

He doesn't realize he's staring until Grif speaks again.

"Is this another part of your whole passive-agressive-roommate thing? You're just gonna stare at me until I get out of bed?"

Simmons blinks. "What? No, I just-"

_I love you, and don't you forget it_.

Heat rises in his cheeks. Is Grif really just going to pretend that didn't happen? Is he expecting Simmons to just _forget it?_

"Uh huh. Lucky for you, I was about to get up anyway," Grif says. Then he rises from the bed and walks away, leaving Simmons dumbfounded and alone.

—

He probably meant it as a friend.

That must be it. That's the only plausible explanation for how Grif can say something so significant only to wake up the next day and go back to acting like everything is _fucking normal_.

It drives Simmons crazy. At first, he tries to distract his overthinking brain by catering to Sarge's every need. But the old man just wants to be left alone so he can keep building his new robot.

So Simmons spends the day with Grif. And every time Grif so much as looks his way, or moves closer to him, the cyborg's heart jolts in excitement. It's only when the Grif says something stupid—like "Hey, what's the most stupid superpower you can think of?" or "How long do you think it'll take for robots to take over the world?"—that Simmons has to remind himself all over again.

He meant it as a friend. Grif doesn't love him like that. There's just no way.

But there's still a tiny part of him that hopes.

—

As nighttime approaches, Simmons isn't sure if he's emotionally prepared to share the bed with Grif again. So when Sarge and Grif go to sleep, he goes off on his own to clear his head with a little walk. By the time he returns to Red Base, Grif is already lying asleep on one side of the bed.

Or at least, that's what Simmons thinks.

But when he lies down next to his friend, the orange trooper turns to look at him. "You're back," Grif says.

"You're still awake?" Simmons' brows furrow as he remembers another part of their conversation from the night prior. "Wait. You weren't asleep last night either."

"Simmons-"

"And you're never asleep at this time, are you? Because you don't fall asleep that fast. It takes you _hours_." Grif closes his mouth, and Simmons takes the silence for an admission. His face softens in concern. "How long has this been going on, Grif? Why didn't you say something?"

"Look, it's no big deal, okay? I just have a lot of thoughts."

"Thoughts?" When his friend refuses to elaborate, Simmons lowers his voice. "You wanna talk about it?"

Grif searches his eyes for a while before turning toward the ceiling. "I told you," he says, "it's no big deal. But… sometimes I wonder, you know? Not just about why we're here, but about other stuff too. Like, I'll think about home, and how I left. Or I'll think about Kai, and how much I miss her hugs—or even just hugs in general. Being held. I miss that." He pauses, shaking his head. "I dunno, man. It's stupid."

"It's not stupid," Simmons says. "I miss it too. Well, maybe _miss_ isn't exactly the right word, since I can't remember ever getting a lot of hugs, but… I already miss being held by _you_." Grif raises his eyebrows, and only then does Simmons fully realize what he just said. "Um. I mean. Last night. Was nice. I guess."

Just as the cyborg starts to mentally berate himself for messing up the conversation, Grif huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, if only you didn't fall asleep right when we were having a moment."

"Hey, it's not my fault! It was late!"

"Calm down, you loser. I liked it too." The orange trooper's amused expression fades into a more serious one. "And you did help me fall asleep."

Simmons' heart swells. "I did?"

"You did." Grif wraps an arm over Simmons' waist and buries his face in the cyborg's chest.

The taller man holds his hand up hesitantly, and slowly runs his fingers over his friend's dark hair. "You know, we can still talk," he says.

"Nah, let's just sleep. Turns out I say some pretty stupid shit when I'm sleep-deprived."

"It's not stupid." None of it is. Not the thoughts of home, not the longing to be held, not-

_I love you_.

Simmons still can't get those three words out of his head. _That's_ what's stupid. He knows he's probably overthinking things, trying to draw out meaning that isn't there, but whenever he sees Grif, there they are again. The same three words, haunting him.

He has to know what they mean.

"Hey, Grif," he says at last. "What did you-"

His words are interrupted by the sound of Grif's snoring.

The cyborg sighs, half in disappointment and half in relief. As much as he wants to know— _needs_ to know—how Grif feels, he doesn't mind waiting another day. Because if Grif doesn't feel the same way, Simmons doesn't know if he'll be able to stay around him anymore.

_Tomorrow,_ Simmons tells himself. _I'll get my answer tomorrow._

Then he closes his eyes and tries his best to summon sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> idiots in love

Today's the day.

Today's the day Grif is _finally_ gonna show Simmons how he feels. And this time, he's gonna make it so undeniably obvious that even the most oblivious loser on the planet would understand.

He makes up his mind shortly after waking up—when he opens his eyes to find the peaceful face of the man he's grown to love for years. Grif is tired of hiding it. He at least knows that Simmons likes cuddling with him, so he totally has a better chance than he thought before.

But this is one of the few things he can't half-ass. With newfound motivation, he carefully unravels himself from Simmons' limbs and heads upstairs to clean.

He manages to get through a fair amount of the mess before he hears Simmons' voice call from downstairs. "Grif? What are you doing up there?"

"Uh, something private!" he calls back. "Don't come up here!"

"You better not be adding to the trashpile!"

Grif giggles to himself and shoves another food wrapper into a bag. "Oh, you don't have to worry about that."

"I can _hear_ the trashbags, dumbass! And I know you didn't take the trash out like you were supposed to!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do it later. Just don't come up here!" He smiles as the maroon soldier sighs and walks away. He can't wait to see the surprise on Simmons' face when he sees what Grif's planning. 

—

Today was gonna be the day.

Today was gonna to be the day Simmons would _finally_ figure out how Grif feels. That's what Simmons told himself before falling asleep, and he had every intention of keeping that promise when he woke up.

But then he woke up alone.

And now…

Not only is Grif once again refusing to acknowledge their exchange from the night before, but he's actively avoiding him too? What did Simmons do wrong? He thought things were going well between them. They were both able to admit they like cuddling together, which isn't something Simmons would do with anyone else. But maybe… maybe he's been deluding himself. Maybe it's not as big a deal to Grif. Or maybe all those things Grif said were just a product of sleep deprivation.

Damn. Feelings are hard.

After taking some time to tend to his cabbage garden—he knows they're not safe to eat, but the grunt work relaxes him—Simmons paces back and forth in front of the base, feeling like a total moron. He wishes he had someone else to talk to. Even Donut would do. At least Donut would probably listen to him more than Sarge would.

But Sarge is the only one he has at Red Base besides Grif, and Sarge is the one who finds him.

"Simmons! What are you doing out here?"

The cyborg stops in his tracks. "I'm, uh… securing the entrance?"

Thankfully, Sarge seems to buy it. "Good man. You never know when those dirty Blues might turn on us. Now where's Grif?"

"Grif? Who's Grif? Why would I know where Grif is?" The words escape his mouth before he can stop them, and Simmons winces. No one's buying _that_.

"Son, you wanna tell me what the problem is?"

"Oh, there's no problem, sir. I just didn't understand what you said at first. But now I do, and Grif's upstairs, so everything's fine."

"Is that so…" Sarge's voice trails off suspiciously. "Then why don't you go up there and drag that lazy dirtbag outside?"

Simmons sighs. "Yes, sir."

—

Grif looks intently over the setup he's prepared.

He took a rain tarp from the west wing of the base to use as a picnic mat. He also placed the leafy end of a tree branch in a little nest of rocks in an attempt to decorate. To top it all off, Grif laid out the secret stash of food he had hidden for himself—you know, for emergencies. It isn't much, but at least it's something.

The plan is to show Simmons just before the sun sets, so they can eat dinner together as the sky above them turns pink—or lightish red, as Donut would put it. Part of Grif wishes the pink soldier were here now just so he had someone to ask for advice.

But Grif did his best, and that'll have to do. Now there's just the matter of keeping Simmons from seeing the room until the time is right.

Standing at the top of the stairs, Grif positions trashbags into a row in front of him, then stacks more on top to make a wall. Later, he'll find something to distract Simmons so he can take the trash out and shower before the big reveal. Maybe he can get Sarge to help him out. After all, the old man _has_ been pretty lenient about Grif and Simmons sleeping in together.

Just as Grif finishes up his wall of trashbags, he hears footsteps coming from below. He hurries downstairs to see who it is.

—

Simmons hesitates to call Grif's name. He wonders how the orange soldier will react to hearing his voice this time—if he'll be excited or annoyed. But before Simmons can overthink it any further, he hears footsteps coming down the stairs, and before he knows it, Grif's standing right in front of him.

"Oh, hey, Simmons. What's up?"

"What's up?" The cyborg echoes him in disbelief. "You're the one who's been cooped upstairs all morning. What up with _you_?"

"Uuuuuh…"

"You know what? I don't care. Sarge wants us outside."

Simmons walks away, resigned to hide all the pesky worries that have been festering in his mind. But his heart still flutters as Grif steps into his peripheral view.

When they stand outside, waiting for Sarge to put the finishing touches to the new Lopez, Grif brings up robot domination again—guides them back into normal conversation. This is who they are. This is their friendship.

Too bad normal doesn't feel the same anymore.

— 

Once Lopez 2.0 is finished, Red Team heads over to assist the Blues in fixing the radio. And as the Reds make it back from the comm tower, Grif can't keep the dopey grin off his face.

Now that they know Donut is bringing a rescue team, there's all the more reason to celebrate—and they can finally do so without Wash berating them about their food supply! The timing couldn't be more perfect.

Well, there _is_ still a big dangerous robot in the canyon with them, but that's totally a Blue Team problem. There's no way it's getting in the way of Grif's plan.

Later, when Simmons complains to him about trash duty again, Grif smiles under his helmet. The maroon trooper doesn't suspect a thing.

Not even Sarge and his ridiculous orders to watch the Blues can put a damper on Grif's mood. They've still got plenty of daylight left, and spying on the Blues is just another excuse for Grif to spend it with the guy he likes. So he heads to the other side of the canyon with Simmons, blissfully unaware of what's to come.

Blissfully unaware that he'll return to Red Base alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more pining while Simmons is at Blue Base

Everything's fine.

Who cares if Simmons is staying with the Blues and their giant killer robot for an indefinite amount of time? It's fine. He'll be fine. Everything's _fine_.

But then Grif has to tell Sarge.

"For the last time, Sarge, Simmons wasn't kidnapped! He _chose_ to leave. _Simmons. Left. Us._ "

He expects Sarge to brush him off again—to start back up with his cries about the Blues taking one of their men—but instead, Sarge looks him up and down, cocking his shotgun with an affirming grunt. "And what are you gonna do about it?"

In the end, there's only one thing Grif wants to do.

So with a heavy sigh, he hops into the Warthog. "If anyone asks, this was _your_ stupid idea."

"Whatever you say, numbnuts. Now let's teach those Blues to tango!"

—

Everything sucks.

The "rescue mission" couldn't have possibly gone worse. Now Simmons is an actual prisoner, Grif is _still_ stuck with Sarge, and they're losing to a team led by _Caboose_.

"Why did you make us share half the base?" Grif asks in defeat, his hands still on the steering wheel of the parked Warthog.

Sarge is silent for a while. And when he finally speaks, it's only after setting down his shotgun.

"Ah, we'll get'im back," he says. "I'd even stake a Strawberry Yoohoo on it."

"You only have one left."

"And I sure as hell ain't losing it to a Blue-befriending bot! As a matter of fact…"

Sarge hops out of the Warthog and rushes into the base, only to return a minute later with a little one-serving box of Strawberry Yoohoo. He holds it out to Grif.

"Here," Sarge says. "You need it more than I do."

Grif stares in confusion. "Uh, sir?"

"Now drink up and get back to work! Someone has to take on Simmons' duties, which means you've got a boatload of ass kissing to do while he's gone!"

"Yeah right," Grif grumbles. But he sticks the straw into the Yoohoo box nonetheless and takes a nice long sip of the sugary drink.

— 

Once Doc and Donut arrive, it doesn't take long for them to start driving Grif crazy.

It's not the worst thing, having company other than Sarge, but at night? That's when they _really_ get on his nerves. They somehow managed to bring extra cots but not a full rescue team, so they both lie in their cots in the corner of the base while questioning Grif for not using one of the spares. And as Grif curls up in the bed Simmons made, he can hear them murmur to each other—not loud enough that he can make out the words, but loud enough for him to remember the way he and Simmons used to talk.

One night, he decides he's had enough.

"Where are you going?" Donut asks as Grif rises from his bed.

"For a walk," Grif says. He leaves before he has to hear another word out of anyone's mouth.

He doesn't have any particular destination in mind, but with nowhere else to go, his feet take him toward Blue Base—toward Simmons. He stops as the base grows near, looking around for the big robot. 

"Grif?!"

The orange trooper freezes. Turns. "Oh. Hey, Simmons."

"What are you doing here? What if Freckles finds you?"

"He's _definitely_ gonna find us if you keep shouting like that."

"I-" Simmons stops and shuts his mouth. He takes a deep breath to calm himself.

"Besides," Grif whispers, "you're one to talk. I know you snuck over there to set up that stupid Facebook knockoff."

"If you know about Basebook, why didn't you make an account? We could've talked there."

"But we shouldn't _have_ to, Simmons. You're supposed to be _home_."

"Is that why you're here?" Simmons asks quietly. "To bring me home?"

Grif frowns. Why _is_ he here? Simmons was the one who chose to leave Red Team in the first place. So Grif shouldn't care. He shouldn't miss him so much. He shouldn't.

"I just needed to get away," he says at last.

"You're having trouble sleeping again, aren't you?"

No answer.

"Maybe you should talk to Doc about it," Simmons says.

Grif looks at him incredulously. " _Doc?_ "

"Look, I know he isn't the best medic, but he at least has training. He might be able to help."

"I don't need help."

"Grif…"

"Stop that!"

"Stop what?"

"Looking at me with fucking pity! I'm Dexter Grif! The _lazy_ one! The one who doesn't care about anyone or anything but himself! I was doing just fine until you and your stupid emotions came along!"

"Well, excuse me for worrying about the people I care about!"

"Oh, so now you care about me?"

"Of course I care! How could you even think that I don't-"

"Because you're not the only one who wants to hear it sometimes, Simmons!"

Before Simmons can respond, the foot of a massive robot slams into the ground.

"Hide!" he whispers frantically. He and Grif both spot the same nearby boulder, and they rush to crouch behind it. It turns out it isn't the best size for hiding two grown men.

"Come closer," Grif says. "It'll see you."

Simmons tries to step closer and immediately loses his balance. He almost falls before Grif reaches out and pulls him forward. Their helmets land together, but neither one of them dares move. They simply stay like that, clinging to each other for balance, close enough to hear each other's breathing. Close enough that if their helmets were off, Grif might've leaned in for a kiss.

When the sound of Freckles' footsteps fades, Simmons stands and looks away.

"There's nothing wrong with you, Grif. I l-" He stops himself. "I like you. Just the way you are. But I worry. You have to know I worry."

Grif steps in front of him and takes his hand. "Come home, Simmons."

"Not until it's safe for everyone." Simmons intertwines their fingers. "Until then, promise you'll talk to Doc for me?"

"All right," Grif says. "For you."

He reluctantly lets go of Simmons' hand and walks away, and each time he looks back, the maroon soldier is still there, watching him go.


End file.
